


Forever Forwards

by loves_books



Series: Forever Changed [7]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Happily Ever After, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: The passing years had been kind to Face, a few more laughter lines by his eyes and the first strands of silver only now appearing in his thick curls; Hannibal was biased, of course, but he couldn’t help stealing appreciative glances at his husband out of the corner of his eye. He felt old and tired himself but Face told him every day how handsome he was, and Face’s opinion was all that mattered to Hannibal.
Relationships: Templeton "Faceman" Peck/John "Hannibal" Smith
Series: Forever Changed [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/118435
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Forever Forwards

**Author's Note:**

> This will make no sense if you haven't read the rest of the series!

There are good days and bad days, always have been and always will be, for both of them. Even now after three years, two hundred thirty two days and four hours sober, Hannibal still has moments where he wants nothing more than to crack open a cold beer, or sip at a smooth whiskey.

Those moments are few and far between, thank goodness, and for the most part Hannibal knows how to cope when they do sneak up on him. It is a want and not a need, and he reminds himself that there are so many things more important than having a drink. If he needs to, he can always call his sponsor, though he’s reached a point now where he is a sponsor himself, a port of call for others in his position having a bad day.

Today could easily have been a bad day, or a least a challenging day. Usually, being around others who are drinking isn’t necessarily a problem for Hannibal, but the bigger the gathering the harder the challenge. When there are tuxedo-clad waiters circling through two hundred or so guests, bearing trays laden with a selection of fine wines and spirits, there is suddenly temptation at every turn, and it would be so very easy to just reach out and – 

Instead, as he so often does, Hannibal reaches out for Face, placing one hand on his husband’s shoulder and tightening his grip on his glass of tonic water with ice. Face doesn’t look up from his seat to where Hannibal stands, being deep in conversation with a fellow Major and her wife, but he does immediately reach one hand up to cover Hannibal’s, squeezing gently. Grounding Hannibal in every possible way.

This could have been a bad day for Face, too, but Hannibal is relieved to see his husband is coping well and seems to be enjoying himself. Since the accident – three years, two hundred thirty two days and about _five_ hours ago – Face has his good and bad moments which are far more difficult to cope with than Hannibal’s, and much more unpredictable.

The head injury that had left Face unconscious for twenty three days was still affecting him now, and most likely would be something he would have to live with for the rest of his life. Occasional memory problems, migraines, balance issues – a particularly cruel challenge, if you asked Hannibal, given the challenges his husband already faced with his prosthetic leg.

But Face hadn’t let his newer challenges keep him down, in the same way he had refused to let the loss of his leg, so many years earlier, send him spiralling into depression. They had both defied all the odds stacked against them: Face had been promoted to Major three years ago, just two short weeks before Hannibal had published his third novel, and they were stronger together and more in love than they had ever been.

Life was good, better than Hannibal could have dreamed it would be, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t still good days and bad days. Standing by Face’s side now, watching the officers’ Summer Ball, Hannibal sipped slowly at his drink and let the hum of conversation and music happen around him, content to support his husband and just observe, happy they could both be there together. Face had spent the last two days flat on his back suffering from a crippling attack of vertigo, and Hannibal hadn’t been sure they should come, though Face had charmed him into it, still able to wrap Hannibal around his little finger with a soft smile and tender hands.

And Hannibal was glad they had made the effort, even if he was being faced with trays of alcohol at every turn. He’d found Face a seat at a table but chosen to stay standing, watching – in the Rangers, neither of them had ever had much opportunity or desire to attend events like this, but since Face had transferred back to Benning they had both found themselves becoming more involved with life on base.

This ball was at a huge hotel complex rather than in the officers’ mess, complete with a dance floor and a full orchestra. The rooms were full of officers in their finest dress uniforms, with partners in ballgowns or tuxedos – Hannibal himself had chosen a midnight blue tux, to Face’s enthusiastic agreement, rather than the dress uniform he’d always secretly detested.

Naturally, Face looked utterly breath-taking in his full dress uniform, chest full of gleaming medals, even it was accessorised with a pair of crutches today, for added stability after his vertigo attack. The passing years had been kind to Face, a few more laughter lines by his eyes and the first strands of silver only now appearing in his thick curls; Hannibal was biased, of course, but he couldn’t help stealing appreciative glances at his husband out of the corner of his eye. He felt old and tired himself but Face told him every day how handsome he was, and Face’s opinion was all that mattered to Hannibal.

Face was in his element at the ball, chatting and laughing and schmoozing quite happily as a steady stream of visitors stopped by his table to say hello. Like Hannibal, he was drinking only tonic water, though his glass held a slice of lime where Hannibal’s was plain. His medication didn’t mix well with alcohol, and he’d joked more than once that they’d saved a small fortune over the last few years between them, though Hannibal always pointed out with a sly smile that whatever little they’d saved had quickly been spent on the latest addition to their family: a tabby kitten named Sugarplum who had joined the elderly Tilly and always-excitable Jasper in the Smith household.

The evening was drawing on, and the crowd on the dancefloor was beginning to thin out. Face’s hand was still warm where it rested over his, and Hannibal suddenly knew what he wanted to do more than nearly anything in the world.

Stepping around the side of Face’s chair without separating their hands, Hannibal placed his empty glass on the table in front of his husband before lifting Face’s own half-full glass from unresisting fingers.

“John? Everything okay?” Face’s bright blue eyes immediately locked onto him, his conversation forgotten, his focus entirely on Hannibal. “Did you want to head out?”

Giving Hannibal an easy exit, without actually having to say it, if things were getting too much – oh, Hannibal loved this man so much it hurt.

“Everything is just fine,” Hannibal reassured Face quickly, nodding to Major Jenkins and her wife, before holding out both hands to Face. “I just wondered if you would like to dance with me?” 

Face’s mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as his eyebrows shot upwards, and Hannibal could almost see the wheels turning in his husband’s sharp mind. “I don’t know,” Face admitted after a pause. “I mean, I’d love to, but – ”

“Trust me?” Hannibal hadn’t meant it to be a question, only realising it was when Face suddenly smiled brightly and nodded, taking Hannibal’s hands in his own and allowing himself to be pulled carefully to his feet.

“Always, husband.”

Hannibal kissed Face very gently then slid one arm around his slender waist, taking as much of his husband’s weight as he could as they walked slowly over to the dance floor without another word, just as the orchestra began to play a slow waltz.

Face shifted in Hannibal’s arms until they were face to face, draping his arms around Hannibal’s neck as Hannibal tightened his own around Face’s middle, and together they swayed gently in place as the music swelled around them. It wasn’t quite dancing but it was far closer than they had managed in the years since their wedding.

“This is nice,” Face whispered with a smile, tucking his head down on Hannibal’s shoulder with a happy sigh.

“It is indeed.” Hannibal could feel Face was unsteady on his legs, one real and one prosthetic, but he kept him close as they rocked. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“You were busy being my guard dog.” Face laughed softly, and Hannibal was a little surprised.

“Is that what I was doing?”

A nod, and Face’s soft hair brushed against Hannibal’s chin with a faint waft of his favourite strawberry-scented shampoo. “Unless you prefer the term Mother Hen?”

Hannibal decided to let that one slide for the sake of marital bliss.

“I’ve never really been any good at these things,” he admitted instead, turning them gently in place and keeping careful time with the music. “The politics, the conversations, all the subtext. There’s a reason I stayed out in the field so much.”

“Was that the only reason, just to avoid all the parties?” Face laughed again, knowingly.

“Definitely,” Hannibal said firmly, and Face lifted his head just enough to look Hannibal squarely in the eye, his lips quirked up in an amused smile and his eyes shining brightly with happiness, and perhaps a tiny hint of dizziness. “You doing okay?”

“I know you’ve got me.” Face closed his eyes with a tiny sigh, leaning into Hannibal’s arms a little more. “I trust your strength more than I trust my own at this point.”

They swayed slowly in place until the music began to fade, and Hannibal could feel Face’s legs were becoming increasingly wobbly. Reluctantly he turned them back towards their table, keeping his arm firmly in place around his husband’s waist; Face kept his eyes closed, clearly more than a little dizzy, though Hannibal could see he was still smiling as they shuffled off the dance floor.

That meant that Hannibal was the first one who saw the younger man waiting nervously by their table, in place of the two women they had left there. He was wearing dress uniform, so a soldier not a partner, and he looked vaguely familiar though Hannibal deliberately chose not to focus on him until he had Face settled back down safely in his chair.

He leaned in to steal a quick kiss from his husband and whispered, “Better?”

“Perfect,” came the contented reply, then Face blinked his blue eyes open and immediately noticed their newest visitor. “Ben?”

“Captain Smith.” Their younger guest nodded, then immediately corrected himself. “Sorry, I mean _Major_ Smith. Congratulations, sir.”

“Thanks, kid.” Face grabbed at Hannibal’s sleeve and pulled him down into a chair by his side, gesturing for their visitor to sit as well. “So, how are you doing? And how’s Sam?”

And all the pieces finally slid into place for Hannibal. Ben had approached them at the hospital on base a few months ago, when Face was in for a standard check-up on his stump and prosthesis, desperate for advice on how to help his partner who had just lost a foot and half his lower leg in Afghanistan one week earlier. Hannibal had sat with him while Face went on to his appointment alone, answering as many questions as he could and offering advice from his own experiences.

“He’s doing much better, thanks, sir. Still has good days and bad days, but he’s got his new foot now and he’s walking on it pretty well. He would’ve been here tonight but he’s got an op in the morning.”

“And how are you doing?” Hannibal asked before Face could speak up, leaning forwards and taking his husband’s hand tightly in his own. “Are you managing?”

So much unspoken in that simple question. Ben had been worried he was going to smother Sam, who had always been so independent, and he had also been worried he wouldn’t be able to cope with all the medical stuff coming his way when Sam returned from Germany. Ben was squeamish, by his own admission, and he hadn’t known how he would cope when he first saw his partner of nearly four years for the first time since the incident.

“We’re both doing just fine, Colonel Smith, really.” Ben’s smile seemed genuine, and Hannibal found himself relaxing a little with a smile of his own. “Your advice really helped. I appreciate you taking the time when you really didn’t have to, especially when you don’t know me at all, and I realised I never said thank you.”

“It was nothing, kid. I wished I could’ve helped more.” Hannibal had made a few suggestions, mostly based on his own experience coping when Face had lost his leg, and had typically thought of a thousand more things he should’ve said once the young soldier had left.

“It all helped more than you could possibly know, sir.” Ben turned his attention to Face then, who had been sitting quietly, listening. “And Sam told me that you’d written to him, Major. He hasn’t shown me the letter but he said it really helped him put things in perspective. Everything changed for the better after he read that.”

Hannibal turned to Face in surprise; his husband shifted in his seat, ducking his head a little though his smile was still wide and confident, at least to those who didn’t know him quite as well as Hannibal did. “It was the least I could do,” Face said easily. “I’d still like to meet him sometime, when he’s ready. And you both know where we are if either of you ever need anything, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid straightened into an almost-salute, then nodded once before bobbing to his feet. “I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your evening, sirs. I just wanted to say thanks, from both of us.”

“Any time.” Hannibal shook Ben’s hand and watched as Face did the same, then dropped back into the chair by his husband’s side, gesturing for a waiter to fetch them another two glasses of tonic water. “You wrote to him?” he asked softly, the world around them fading away to a distant hum.

Face shrugged, shuffling sideways in his seat until they were pressed together shoulder to knee, before dropping his head down to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder once again. “I had to reach out somehow.” Face’s words were barely more than a whisper, almost too quiet for Hannibal to hear. “Listening to Ben, I remembered those first few days all too well. The anger, the pain. But then I remembered all the things that got me through. Realising how lucky I was to be alive. Having you in my life.”

Those early days had been incredibly difficult for Face, and Hannibal still wished he’d been there for him sooner rather than wallowing in his own feelings of guilt for far too long. Thankfully he’d seen sense in the end or, more accurately, Face had helped him to see sense. “I still wonder if we would ever have got together if it hadn’t happened,” Hannibal confessed after a long moment, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Face’s head and breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of his husband. 

A thousand alternatives flew through Hannibal’s mind, of lives they could have lived. 

If Face hadn’t lost his leg in that warehouse at all, or if they’d somehow stayed as teammates and friends. 

If Hannibal hadn’t eventually gone to visit Face in the hospital, or if Face hadn’t convinced him to stay when he’d tried to leave. 

If Hannibal had been killed in service before he could retire and marry Face, or if Face had said no when he’d proposed. 

If Face had been killed or severely brain damaged by that drunk driver in Washington, or if Hannibal had kept drinking and ruined everything they’d worked so hard to build.

If. If. If…

Face slid an arm around Hannibal’s waist, pulling him from his dark and spiralling thoughts, and told him firmly, “I think we’d have got there in the end, but then again, everything happens for a reason.”

Hannibal couldn’t help but chuckle at his husband’s endless optimism, and Face laughed a little too, snuggling closer still. And there they stayed, side by side, as the evening drew slowly to a close, the orchestra playing their final notes and the cleaners moving in around them as their friends and colleagues stopped by briefly to say their farewells. 

Face was the one who stirred first, lifting his head from Hannibal’s shoulder just enough to whisper in his ear. “Take me home, John?”

“Always, Temp. And forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I _think _this is the end of this series, though I'm aware I've said that before... Never say never, I suppose, but this feels like a natural end to this particular AU. Hope anyone still reading has enjoyed it!__


End file.
